Knowing he was in the wrong, Song Hengjue wasn't annoyed by the cold shoulder. He shamelessly came closer, pinched her delicate ankle, and helped her put on her shoes, babbling on and on: "I just made you your favorite white fungus soup, and steamed some xiaolongbao with your favorite carrot and pork filling. I also made some flatbread, the kind you were talking about the other day. It's still warm, you can eat it when you go out."
He kissed her cheek stickily, but Yang Qingheng pushed him away in disgust: "I haven't washed my face yet, don't touch me."
While she wasn't paying attention, Song Hengjue took two deep breaths on the other side, chuckled, and his chest vibrated slightly: "I don't mind."
Yang Qingheng touched her face irritably and wiped it all back onto his apron: "I'm disgusted by your saliva."
Song Hengjue pressed his lips down, grabbed her legs, and bent down to enter the bathroom.
Like a reincarnated clingy person, he was even more clingy than usual. If Yang Qingheng hadn't coldly kicked him out, he would have even brushed her teeth himself.
"I had a set of clothes that I forgot to take back when I stayed here before. Where did you put them? I need to wear them later." Yang Qingheng swallowed the steamed bun in her mouth and looked up at the man opposite her who was staring at her intently.
Last night, Song Hengjue ravaged my clothes, leaving two buttons missing, making them completely unwearable.
Song Hengjue finally came to his senses and added half a bowl of white fungus soup to her bowl: "Are you going out? Where are you going?"
“Go back to Tang Bainian’s house,” Yang Qingheng answered subconsciously, then quickly added, looking at his face, “Go back and pack my things.”
Song Hengjue's expression softened a little, and he pursed his lips, saying, "I'll help you pack."
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